(February/'47 / Connecticut, USA)

Finder's Fees

They don't want to be real.
And yet the reality of their existence,
Has manifested them in constant complaint.
Their eyes have been shielded from a truth,
Distanced from their remote touches.
Their anger suppressed,
Has them locked within traps...
Of Sunday confessions.
Torned with guilt that slaps,
If those visits have lapses.
Dictated to keep their tithes high
To ensure,
An answer to their prayers will come.

And All that God 'Is' is free for the asking.
Punishments are of our own choosing.
God has watched us abuse one another.
Do you think He gets paid a percentage,
Of those 'finder's' fees?
His only pleasure,
Is to have us come to HIM.
Alone.
And not understanding this...
Has a temendous price at a cost,
We suffer to deliver.
Just to keep a nightmare of sin away!
But we keep our wishes for things.
And these things wished...
Eventually are asked to have the pressure
Of keeping them,
Blessedly kept and protected.

And All that God 'Is' is free for the asking.
Punishments are of our own choosing.
God has watched us abuse one another.
Do you think He gets paid a percentage,
Of those 'finder's' fees?
His only pleasure,
Is to have us come to HIM.
Alone.

They don't want to be real.
And yet the reality of their existence,
Has manifested them in constant complaint.
Their eyes have been shielded from a truth,
Distanced from their remote touches.
Their anger suppressed,
Has them locked within traps...
Of Sunday confessions.
Torned with guilt that slaps,
If those visits have lapses.
Dictated to keep their tithes high
To ensure,
An answer to their prayers will come.
Or at least a developed plan to put them on layaway.

by Lawrence S. Pertillar

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